


And all our loves

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crushes, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 01:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Yuuri was tired and hungry and sore from practice and nervous for an exam tomorrow, and Phichit was smiling at him like a cat about to corner a canary.  Whether this was something good or something bad - he wasn’t at all sure yet.Or:  Phichit knows all of Yuuri’s secrets, every single one, and those including Victor Nikiforov...he enables those wholeheartedly (and supports him even more).





	And all our loves

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing is set before the series starts, while Yuuri and Phichit are living together in Detroit. Yuuri is 110% a fanboy and Phichit enables him 120%.
> 
> Thank you to Naamah, as always, for your assistance!

 

“Yuuri!  Yuuri, Yuuri, _Yuuri_!”

Phichit came skidding into the living room as soon as Yuuri trundled into their tiny apartment, barely giving him time to set down his bags and skates by the door before pouncing against his shoulders.  Yuuri leaned to the side under his excited weight, noticing Phichit had his phone in hand, open to a paused video.  He was tired and hungry and sore from practice and nervous for an exam tomorrow, and Phichit was smiling at him like a cat about to corner a canary.  Whether this was something good or something bad - he wasn’t at all sure yet.

“How much do you love me?” Phichit asked, giving him a breath of space before coming back again to loop an arm over his shoulders instead.  “Like, a _lot_ , right?”

“Sure?” Yuuri replied, more of a question than he really meant it as he let Phichit guide him to the sofa without even a detour to the kitchen for an after-skating snack he really kind of wanted.   _Cake_ , actually, was what he wanted just then, but they didn’t have any.  He stumbled a bit as he stepped out of his muddy shoes and then gave in fully to Phichit’s...whatever this was.

“You’re about to love me even more.  Look.”

He handed Yuuri his phone the second he had gotten comfortable on the couch, shoving it in his face and pressing the screen to make the video already pulled up start to play.  Yuuri took the phone, baffled, his eyes darting up to Phichit’s pleased face and back down again.  Phichit plopped excitedly beside him.  It took a moment for the black to fade away, and then Christophe Giacometti’s smiling face filled the camera’s screen, holding his own phone away as it recorded.  He began to talk swiftly in French.

“Phichit, what - ”

“No, no,” Phichit interrupted quickly when Yuuri tried to hand the phone back.  He tilted the screen back up so they could both see, a huge grin cracking across his lips.  He  _knew something_ , and it made nerves wriggle in Yuuri’s stomach for this apparent surprise.  “Keep watching.  I promise, I promise, you’ll thank me in a second.  He posted this, like, ten minutes ago, it hasn’t gone viral yet.”

Yuuri eyed him warily for just a second, Christophe still chattering away in the video, and turned his attention back to it.  Chris panned the camera to the side and it became clear he was in the passenger seat of a moving car somewhere on an empty coastal road.  He let the camera take in the view of sweeping cliffs and deep blue ocean before moving back to himself.  And _then_ \- and then Yuuri’s heart stopped and his stomach leapt clenching into his throat, he was probably dying right there on the sofa as Phichit began to laugh gleefully beside him, because the camera moved to the driver, and there, at the wheel of a stupidly fancy car, was Victor Nikiforov.

Christophe said something to him and Victor replied with fluid French, a flashing smile, and Yuuri knew his face was turning scarlet just watching Victor there on the screen, probably thousands of miles away in whatever country that was.  Italy?  Greece?  What country had cliffs and ocean like that?  Did it matter?

He was _so beautiful_ , so,  _so_ beautiful, and Yuuri felt the blush cover his face up to his ears.  His bright blue eyes, hair windswept (like the windows had just been down, as if they’d rolled them up for the video; Phichit did that all the time, didn’t he, when they rented a car), the loose shirt, his pale skin, that hair.  So _beautiful_ , so _perfect_.  

Yuuri swallowed and bit his lip hard, not sure what he was feeling all of a sudden when his day had taken such a rapid turn from where it had been only a minute before.  

Victor was just...so…  

Phichit nudged his side playfully with an elbow and straightened the phone before it could fall from Yuuri’s grasp, which had somehow loosened with shock, or surprise, or just _death_ , really, because seeing Victor’s handsome face out of the blue like that, unexpectedly - it could probably kill him.

Suddenly Chris reached out with his own phone in the recording to attach it to something on the dashboard, the camera now able to keep both him and Victor in it’s short frame.  It was, apparently, a small car, and Yuuri just stared and stared.  At Victor, not the car, and if Phichit were to ask questions about the vehicle later...well, he wouldn’t be able to answer any of them.  Music came over the tinny speakers in Yuuri’s hand as Christophe turned up the car’s stereo, bright guitars and cheerful melodies he began to dance to in his seat, and he prodded again at Victor in French.  

The song itself was familiar, one from the 90s that used to come on the radio all the time.   _Kiss_ _Me_ , Yuuri thought it was called.  Irrelevant, when Victor was still in the frame, being so...something.  

“What are they saying?” Yuuri asked, not expecting any kind of real answer yet still disappointed all the same.  He didn’t know French; the words passing between Chris and Victor on the tiny screen, in this little video Christophe posted for the world, made no sense to his ears, and for some reason that made him - _sad_ , silly as it was, as though he were being left out of something.  He glanced at Phichit, who opened his mouth to answer, but Yuuri’s attention was abruptly snapped back to the two people on the screen.  

“He’s singing!”  Yuuri grabbed Phichit’s arm, his fingers tightening in a spasm of fanboy-ish elation so quickly he didn’t have time to be embarrassed.  “Oh my god, Phichit, he’s - he’s singing along to that - to that song!  Oh my _god_!”

Phichit laughed and let his arm be squeezed without complaint.  He dropped his chin down onto Yuuri’s shoulder, smile wide and dimples pressed into his cheeks.  “See?” he said happily.  “I knew you’d love me for this.”  He was quiet for a moment, both of them watching (and Yuuri dying again, because he was sure his heart was about to explode with what he was seeing and hearing and experiencing in that moment).  

Victor stopped singing after the first chorus and said something that sounded rather sassy to Chris, who laughed heartily.  Christophe leaned across the console between the seats, making a face, and Victor just shoved him away lightheartedly with a chuckle of his own, mostly focused on driving by that point as the road, wherever they were, began to curve around the cliffs.  More French fluttered between them, and then Chris turned to address the camera directly.  After what was likely a short goodbye to his followers, he waved, winked, and reached forward to stop the recording.

The screen went black for a moment and then returned to the first frame, ready to play again.  Less than five minutes, enough to change Yuuri’s entire life and destroy him all at once.

Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but still.

Yuuri leaned back into the couch cushions and let out a long-suffering sigh.  Phichit fell down beside him, plucking the phone from his limp fingers.  “Do you want to watch it again?” he asked, voice soft and sweet and everything Yuuri loved about him.  He didn’t know how to respond, and his eyes turned up to the speckled ceiling.  Some of the plaster was peeling off; they should call maintenance about that.

“You’ve been so stressed out, Yuuri,” Phichit murmured, folding his knees up and planting his head onto Yuuri’s shoulder again.  “And anxious, too, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“He’s so perfect.”

His words were barely even a whisper and obviously an avoidance of what Phichit was trying to ask just then, but Phichit heard him, heard the yearning and the fear and the...everything he ever tried to hide.  Phichit started the video a second time, turning the volume down low.  “You’re great, too, Yuuri,” he said quietly.  “I know you forget that sometimes, but I’ll remind you until Victor Nikiforov can do it for you instead.”

“No, god, stop _saying_ things like that.  You’re awful,” Yuuri groaned, almost sheepish enough to turn away as Victor’s entrancing, wonderful (to Yuuri, always to Yuuri) voice began to flutter in a language neither of them knew.  But Phichit still leaned heavily against him so he couldn’t move, and the video played enticingly in front of him, and he stayed.

“Thank you.”

Phichit smiled and, for once, didn’t tease.  “You’re welcome.”


End file.
